The Best Kind of Prize is a Surprise
by A Fire in the Attic
Summary: Stiles shows up in London after they both graduate. He insists that he's not there to see Jackson, that going to London was a coincidence, because why the hell would he want to see that dumbass? Or: One time Jackson surprised Stiles, one time Stiles surprised Jackson, one time they surprised each other, and one time they surprised the pack.
1. Part 1

**otg2012 asked you**: Hi.. Just in case.. Stackson: for different fics: "**I've always been into you**" / "I don't wanna keep this a secret anymore" / "It's time, I want us to have children" / "they are never gonna get it".

**Word Count**: 1081

Or: One time Jackson surprised Stiles, one time Stiles surprised Jackson, one time they surprised each other, and one time they surprised the pack.

* * *

Stiles shows up in London after they both graduate. He insists that he's not there to see Jackson, that going to London was a coincidence, because why the hell would he want to see that dumbass? In fact the truth is, Lydia gave him the plane tickets out of desperation. She'd been planning to go (also not to see Jackson. She was going to take a tour of Oxford). Things hadn't quite worked out.

In fact he doesn't even run into Jackson for the first week, and when he does, it's because Jackson tracks him down.

Stiles is in line to buy fish in chips because it seems like the right thing to do in London when you're on the run from…

Anyway, he's standing in line, about to hand over what he hopes is the proper amount of pounds to the cashier. The door to the shop swings open, and behind him he hears, "Stiles."

He recognizes the voice; of course he does. You don't forget the person who tormented you all through middle school and the first two years of high school. You don't forget the one who dates the girl of your dreams.

(Jackson is too pretty to forget. Stiles pretends this isn't another reason to remember him.)

The thing is, Stiles doesn't recognize the tone in Jackson's voice. He sounds oddly relieved, even pleased to see him, and when Stiles turns to look, Jackson is grinning lazily.

Maybe London was really good to him.

Maybe Jackson has a new girlfriend and doesn't care what Stiles thinks of Lydia.

Maybe.

Stiles is still wary. "Hey, Jackson," he says, watching as the boy approaches. "How's it going?"

"Good," he says pleasantly. "What are you doing here?"

"Just vacationing," he answered, turning back and handing the cashier some money.

She gave him his change and food and immediately turns to the next customer.

Stiles tries not to be affronted.

"I smelled you," Jackson says conversationally. "Didn't think it was you at first. Just my imagination."

"Do you imagine smelling me often?" Stiles jokes, tearing a piece of his fish off and popping it in his mouth.

Jackson stares at him for a long second, lips pursed. "Maybe," he says. "It gets lonely here."

"Lonely enough that you miss me?" he asks incredulously.

He shrugs and tilts his head toward the door. "Do you want to take a walk? I promise not to beat you up."

"Not even for old time's sake?" he wonders, following Jackson without complaint.

"Try the vinegar," Jackson says. "It's good on your chips."

Doubtfully, he does. He's pleasantly surprised. Not just by the taste, but also by Jackson holding the door for him.

"You coming?" he asks.

"Yeah," Stiles agrees.

They walk through the crowded London streets, each of them alert. Stiles doesn't ask if Jackson heard the lie in his heartbeat when he said he was just vacationing. He's not interested in rehashing the supernatural baddie that sent him running here. He's not sure Jackson is the one he'd want to vent to, anyway.

"There's lots of nice things to do here," Jackson says, breaking their companionable silence about a block away from the fish and chips shop. "I could take you around, if you'd like?"

Stiles really isn't sure if he should trust him. But then again, if he can't handle a possibly mentally disturbed werewolf after all this time, he deserves whatever is coming to him. "Okay," he says, and Jackson grins.

They go on an adventure, sort of. In reality, he just takes him around to a bunch of popular tourist destinations—the London Eye, Big Ben, and even Buckingham Palace.

While they stand outside the Palace, Stiles looks over at Jackson with a frown. "You've been weirdly nice today."

He shrugs. "Seemed like the way to be."

"Why?" he asks, exasperated.

Jackson just shrugs. "Why not?"

"You hate me."

"Nah," he says, and then looks over at Stiles. "You know, I've been a jerk in the past. I regret that. You lose everything and realize how much you screwed it up, you know?"

Stiles sighs. He gets that. Especially right now. He nods and gestures for Jackson to continue.

"I shouldn't have been that way," Jackson says, smiling. "I want you to like me."

"Why?" he asks. It doesn't really make sense.

He shrugs again, jams his hands in his pocket. "I was always jealous of how much attention you paid to Lydia."

Stiles frowns at him and shakes his head. "That's a bit non-sequitur, but okay, I'll bite. Why were you jealous? Wouldn't 'annoyed' or 'furious' work better?"

"I've always been into you," he replies. "So jealous seems right."

He gapes, because surely that can't be right. Jackson Whittemore was on his hate list, and he was pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

Apparently not.

Which, really, it's flattering, because Jackson is gorgeous. Prettier than Derek on his best day, really. He'd overheard Jackson jokingly say that he was everyone's type on several occasions—usually directed at Danny.

But Jackson is a douche.

But he apologized.

But you have a long and horrible history!

But this is the present.

Stiles doesn't really know what to think. "I'm gonna need a minute."

"No problem," Jackson says, as though this is exactly what he expected. "It is getting kind of late, though. Where are you staying? Little boys that smell like werewolves shouldn't wander alone after dark."

"You couldn't have been more creepy if you were Peter," Stiles says, leaning back cautiously. "I actually don't have enough money for a hotel. Kind of on the run."

"Well anyone with a decent amount of determination would be able to find you," Jackson says. "You'll have to stay with me and my parents. Don't worry; I won't try anything."

"But your dad hates me!"

He grins at him. "Only because you were my unrequited gay love. Come on."

"He thinks I kidnapped you," Stiles lamented.

"You did."

"It was for your own good," he snaps, jabbing Jackson's side.

He jumps away, laughing. "Okay, okay. Sure. Don't worry. They'll think I'm reliving the glory days."

"With your unrequited gay love? I don't know how I feel about this."

"Relax. I'll pull a cot out for you." Jackson grabbed his arm and hauled him in the direction of the metro. "We need to make good time, before the ghosties come out."

"Damn, London changed you," he complains. "You weren't always so weird."

"You like it."

A little bit.

* * *

**A/N**: Because prompts are prompts, not instructions on how to build a table.

Basically I'm saying I can build the table how I want.

Which is why this is all one fic.

There won't be any mpreg, which may or may not satisfy you.


	2. Part 2

**Otg2012 asked you**: Hi.. Just in case.. Stackson: for different fics: "I've always been into you"/ "**I don't wanna keep this a secret anymore**" / "It's time, I want us to have children" / "they are never gonna get it".

**Word Count**: 2444

* * *

Jackson doesn't have a spare cot, which is how he and Stiles end up sharing a bed. "Don't be weird," he says when Stiles glares at him. "I used to share a twin bed with Danny all the time. Didn't you share with McCall?"

Stiles doesn't really want to say that he shared a bed with Scott last week. Instead, he says, "I actually _like_ Scott, though."

"Hurtful," Jackson says. "I don't know what your problem is. Everyone likes me."

"I've never liked you," he says, completely exasperated.

But rather than looking disheartened, the other boy looks pleased. "Your heart rushed just now."

Stiles squints at him. "Okay, so I liked you in Elementary school."

"Is that all?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "Or is this good for you?" He tugs his shirt off in a fluid movement that has Stiles jealous, not _aroused_. Ugh. "Anyway, do you need some clothes to borrow? I can't help but notice you have…nothing."

Somehow Jackson has managed to turn Stiles running for his life into an insult. Fantastic. Before Stiles can tell him to piss off, a pair of pajama bottoms hits him in the face.

"Do you need a shirt, too?" Jackson asks. "Give me your clothes. I can throw them in the wash."

Stiles shakes his head numbly. He knows werewolves are weird about putting their scent on other people, and he shouldn't give in _too_ much by wearing a shirt. Jackson would be even _more_ smug.

"Okay," Jackson says, shrugging and sitting down on his bed. "Do you need me to leave the room to preserve your modesty?"

"We were on the lacrosse team together," he mutters in response. "There is literally nothing here that could surprise you."

"Your hair looks good," he offers. "That's a surprise. You should keep it grown out."

He narrows his eyes at him where he's basically lounging on the bed. "Thanks," he says at last, vaguely distrustful. He likes his hair, but then, he liked the buzz cut. He thinks about going back to it every morning. He never really figured out how to style it, so it always looks different. "I haven't actually showered in a week," he says. "Should I?"

Jackson shrugs. "You smell okay. It's up to you."

Right now, after a week of sleeping on benches, the bed looks way too inviting. "In the morning, then." He tugs his shirt off (not so gracefully as Jackson) and drops his pants.

"Did you start running?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles looks down at himself. He looks thinner and all of his muscles stand out more than before. Mostly, he figures, because he hasn't been eating very well lately. Things had been surprisingly stressful. "I'm still on cross country," he says, instead. "Or, you know, I was, before graduation."

"Hmm." Jackson wiggles out of his pants and tugs the quilt and sheets down on his bed. Apparently, he doesn't sleep in much. It makes sense, though. Stiles has noticed that werewolves seem to run a little warmer than everyone else. When he slept with Scott last week, he ended up in just his boxers. Scott was like…what did Bella call Jacob? Oh, a space heater.

(Shut up. He'd read a lot of werewolf books when this had all began. Or, you know, a lot of werewolf fanfiction. Way quicker, seriously.)

Anyway, he's a little nervous when he slides into the bed next to Jackson. He doesn't know how to share a bed with someone he hasn't spent a majority of his life with, like Scott. The two of them have perfected the way their limbs wrap together.

But with Jackson it's…weird. Stiles has always slept on his stomach with at least an arm hanging off the bed. Sometimes his leg follows, and more than once he's ended up with his face pressed into the carpet.

Carpet burn is a real bitch, honestly.

He tries this now, doing his best to keep to his side of the bed, just an arm hanging over, his legs crossed at the ankle. But he doesn't know what to do with his other arm. If he were with Scott, it'd be wrapped around his chest. If he were alone, it would be spread across the bed. For obvious reasons, he can't do either.

For a couple minutes he tries to find a comfortable place to rest it—tucked at his side with his palm cupping his hip bone, curled under his pillow to give his head more support, even on top of the covers in an effort to cool himself down. But Jackson must get annoyed because he presses his palm down on his back and says, "Cut it out. Just relax." And then Jackson shifts until Stiles is half on top of his chest, free arm curled loosely around his waist. "Don't be weird, right?"

The thing is, it's not weird. Stiles falls asleep quickly after that, and in the morning, he realizes it's the best night of sleep he's had in ages.

* * *

He rolls off of Jackson and onto the floor, where he checks his phone quickly. Lydia hasn't texted him with the okay to come home, so it looks like he's not leaving London yet.

He does have a brief message from Scott explaining that his dad is safe and the pack is keeping a watch on him.

"Why would your dad be threatened?" Jackson asks sleepily.

Stiles glances over his shoulder to see that he's rolled to the edge of the bed and is reading the text message. "That's private," he informs him.

He just rolls his eyes and settles himself comfortably. "You can borrow some clothes if you want," he suggests. "Mom will be awake. You can get some breakfast."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he snipes. "Me smelling like you. And I'm not going downstairs without you. Your parents hate me and don't even know I'm here."

Jackson shrugs and looks vaguely pleased. "One, you already smell like me. You slept in my bed. Two, don't worry. They can't recognize faces before they drink coffee."

He groans and rubs a hand over his face, stopping to chew a nail for a second. "Sneaky werewolves," he mumbles. "I'm seriously not leaving the room without you."

"Then come back to bed," he suggests. "Not getting up yet."

"No," he says. "I will steal your clothes and climb out the window." He probably shouldn't stay in one place for too long, anyway.

"Fine, fine," he says, like he can sense what Stiles is thinking. "Why don't you take a shower?" He points at a door on the other side of the room. "They won't go in my bathroom."

"Thanks," he says, still feeling weird about…well, everything. Jackson is being too nice. He doesn't know what to do with that.

He considers everything while he's in the shower. It's not like it would be a great hardship to like Jackson. He's not unattractive, he's just…a douchebag.

Of course, so is Stiles. This is no surprise to anyone.

He comes out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, holding the pajama pants. "So can I borrow some clothes or what?"

Jackson has rolled over onto his stomach and has his head turned away from him, but he points to a pile of clothes at his desk chair.

Remembering the thing about the locker room, he drops his towel and tugs on the borrowed clothes. Jackson even provided underwear, which…well, it's not even the weirdest thing he's done, borrowing underwear. "Now what?" he asks, scowling at the lump on the bed.

Jackson sits up, rubbing his left eye in a way that should not be adorable on an eighteen year old (It totally is, though). "I guess we can go get some breakfast." He gets out of bed and puts on some clothes himself. After tugging a shirt on, he pushes Stiles toward the door. "C'mon. S'go."

Sleepy Jackson is a lot cuter than any other version of Jackson. It's annoyingly endearing. Stiles kicks himself. He refuses to be attracted to this because he's an adult now and he does not have a good past with Jackson.

He's not sure if it's more mature to forgive and forget or to protect himself from what the past has always proven to be dangerous.

The jury is still out, so he follows Jackson downstairs.

"Hey, mom," Jackson says to the woman sitting at the table.

She grunts in response and continues to inhale the steam from her coffee.

"The coffee isn't as strong here," Jackson explains. "She takes it black but it's just not the same. I keep telling her to just go buy some gas station espresso—you know, the stuff that's basically battery acid? But she just keeps making it with our machine."

"Who are you talking to?" she asks wearily, looking up at last to squint at Stiles. "Do I know you?"

"Probably not," Stiles offers hopefully.

"It's Stiles!" Jackson says cheerfully. "From Beacon Hills, remember?"

"Okay," she says, and drains her mug of coffee.

Stiles is confused, alarmed, and worried for her safety. Just how hot had that coffee been?

"What do you want for breakfast?" Jackson asks pleasantly. "We have eggs, muffins, maybe some bacon…I might have eaten all of that yesterday, though."

"A muffin," Stiles suggests, because honestly, what is his life?

"Cool," he says, handing him one. "I hope you like banana nut."

Not particularly, but the flavor isn't awful. Jackson hands him some butter expectantly. "Is this a British thing?" he asks doubtfully, spreading it over the top of his muffin.

Jackson just shrugs and takes the butter back when he's finished. "Tastes better," he says, like that seals it.

(The muffins do taste better, though, so there's that.)

* * *

Later, they meander through Jackson's neighborhood, Stiles slumped uncomfortably. No one has texted him since this morning, mostly because they're trying to figure everything out back home.

"So you're running, right?" Jackson asks as they round a corner. "From what?" He's so much lighter here, like he doesn't ever think about being the kanima.

Stiles thinks about reminding him of that and deflecting him so he doesn't have to say why he's in London. Thinks about it for longer than he thinks about telling him the truth.

He doesn't say anything.

* * *

Jackson's dad still doesn't like him, but it does start to seem like it's because of what Jackson mentioned about the whole unrequited love thing.

Which is still really uncomfortable. Stiles is used to the idea of being in love with people out of his league. He's not used to people being in love with him. It stunned him when Erica confessed a crush on him and when Heather picked him to lose her virginity to (he's still trying not to think about that). The idea of Jackson feeling anything pleasant (let alone romantic) toward him is simply…ludicrous.

"He's staying for a while, if that's okay," Jackson says to his father.

Mr. Whittemore looks over his plate at Stiles, whose eyes are wide in surprise about being invited. "Does your father know where you are?" he asks.

"Yes," he says immediately. He holds in the wince, because it's not true.

Jackson eyes him from across the table and kicks him lightly with his foot.

He kicks him back. "Later," he hopes he communicates.

He'll have to tell him something.

"Okay," Mr. Whittemore says at last. "If it's okay with you." He looks over at Mrs. Whittemore, who just nods.

"He hasn't been a bother," she explains, and so it's settled.

* * *

Jackson pulls him into bed again and in the hot space between sleep and wakefulness, in the hot space between Jackson's heartbeat and the quilt pressing down, Stiles whispers, "They got my dad." He doesn't know why he's telling Jackson this. The truth feels raw, still, and he doesn't want to think about it. The trouble is, he can't _stop_ thinking about it, and—

"What?" comes the whispered response.

"The…we don't know who, really," Stiles says. And suddenly he wants to tell Jackson everything, to trust him. He can't figure out why. It's not like he feels a sense of camaraderie, like he feels with the pack, but there's…something. Anyway, he doesn't want to keep this a secret, not any more. "But somebody put a demon in him. Scott made me leave because they…whoever they are…wanted me. He thought maybe the demon would leave if I wasn't there, but they know. They know I left and that my dad is the only reason to go back."

"And Scott," Jackson adds.

"The whole pack," Stiles admits. He shifts so his head is tucked more comfortably above Jackson's shoulder. "But they can take care of themselves. Dad never even found out about werewolves. He probably knows everything, now." He doesn't want to say it out loud, but it's almost comforting to be tucked here, safe and warm with someone who smells like pack. And true, Stiles doesn't have the sense of smell most of his friends do, but he can smell a werewolf. They have this undertone of…spice. There's no other way to describe it, and that might not even be right. In any sense, it's comforting, homey.

And even if Jackson is a douche, at least he's a familiar one.

"Thank you," he says quietly. "For letting me stay."

Jackson's fingers brush over his ribs, just once. His hand settles somewhere underneath Stiles and he breathes out a "No problem."

Stiles kisses Jackson's cheek, partially because he wants to know how serious he is about his feelings, but mostly because he wants to see how it feels, to see if he could feel anything more.

He trusts Jackson to keep him safe at the very least. He could have ignored his scent that day in the fish and chips shop, could have kicked Stiles out after the first night, could have been cruel instead of confessing.

Stiles wants to give him a chance. It doesn't make sense.

Beneath him, Jackson has gone very still, maybe because he wasn't expecting the kiss (definitely because of that, which makes Stiles feel strange. He shouldn't have this power). "Why?" he whispers.

And Stiles says, "I just want to try this, okay?"

He turns to face him, "Try what?"

He doesn't answer out loud, just leaning forward and brushing his lips against Jackson's. It's soft and dry, but Jackson's hand, tucked underneath him, moves up and squeezes his waist just once.

Stiles leans back, thinking hard, because he liked that. When he looks over at Jackson, he sees wide eyes in the darkness.

It's always nice to surprise a werewolf.

* * *

A/N: So...I thought I put in there that Stiles didn't want to keep everything a secret any more, but um...it didn't make the final cut, apparently. Anyway, the idea is there. Hah.


	3. Part 3

**Otg2012 asked you**: Hi.. Just in case.. Stackson: for different fics: "I've always been into you"/ "I don't wanna keep this a secret anymore" / "**It's time, I want us to have children**" / "they are never gonna get it".

**Notes**: I'm on a roll, y'all. References to Lord of the Rings (Elevensies) and that thing DOB does when he kisses girls.

**Word Count**: 2466

Or: One time Jackson surprised Stiles, one time Stiles surprised Jackson, one time they surprised each other, and one time they surprised the pack.

* * *

When Stiles wakes up, Jackson is in the shower, so he rolls over to face the wall. These moments, he likes to tuck into himself, arms curled at his chest and knees pulled up, like he's spooning a ghost or something. He's not going to fall asleep like this, but it's comforting to lie in bed like this. The world feels very small and safe, but delicate, too.

He misses Beacon Hills.

Scott was always the one who wanted to get out of Beacon Hills. He was always restless, looking to find something better. First it was making first line and then it was Allison. He needed the dirt bike so he could actually leave town on the weekends. He needed the sense of freedom.

But Stiles has always had enough in Beacon Hills. There's always been enough to entertain him with overhearing police phone calls. Later, all the werewolf drama had sealed the deal. Beacon Hills was home, comfortable. Why look for more?

Not that it isn't cool to be in London. It just feels like...he's run out on his friends, his pack. He's worried about his dad.

"Hey, you okay?" Jackson asks, stepping out of the bathroom. "Your heart just sped up."

Stiles wipes a tear out of his eye. "I'm fine." He's not going to panic right now, because it would be too humiliating. Anyway, Derek and Scott won't let anything happen to his dad. He's pack, and by extension, so is his father. They protect their own.

But Jackson comes up behind him and ruffles his hair lightly. "It's okay to be upset."

He lets out a shuddery breath and shakes his head, closing his eyes tightly. He thinks about how he's always wanted to be Batman, but never paid attention to the fact that he was an orphan, and really, he wants nothing to do with it. He'd rather just be himself, which, all things considered, hasn't been so bad in the last couple of years.

And he wants his dad to be okay.

"Should we just hang out here for a while?" Jackson asks. He sits down on the edge of the bed and touches Stiles' shoulder softly. "Do you want me to get you some food?"

Stiles shakes his head. He thinks about sitting up, but doesn't. He thinks about rolling over and resting his head on Jackson's lap, but whatever is here between them is too new, too raw. He can't. But…he lifts one of his hands and touches the hand still resting on his shoulder.

He's only a little surprised that Jackson takes the hand and laces their fingers. "Okay?" Jackson murmurs gently.

"Okay," he whispers in agreement.

* * *

Eventually, he does sit up and get dressed. The two of them go downstairs to eat what Jackson insists is brunch.

"Elevensies," Stiles corrects, because why not? He's a nerd at heart, and apparently Jackson is okay with that. It's a principle, really.

For his part, he just knocks into Stiles and grins. "Dork," he says, but makes Stiles a breakfast burrito with a grin.

While they eat, Jackson tells him about going to school there. "No lacrosse team," he laments. "It's like I don't know who I am any more."

But the opposite is true, and Stiles can tell. This version of Jackson is happy and light. He's obviously come to grips with everything that happened sophomore year. He thinks about asking him, because he could do with a new attitude. Instead, he takes a bite of his burrito and asks Jackson how full moons are over here.

"It's a lot quieter here," he admits. He traces a finger over the grains in the table and looks up with a soft smile. "Not so stressful. People still liked me and I made a few friends. No one like Danny, of course. But there was no one like McCall here, either."

"Or me?" Stiles wonders.

"There's no one like you, idiot," he replies.

It shouldn't make his stomach flutter, but it does. He takes another bite. "But, like, are you anchored?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jackson says, waving a hand. "I'm fine. There's no supernatural threats here, you know? I think, maybe, California is cursed. First there's Buffy and now you guys. So I'm already less stressed when the full moon comes around, but yeah, I'm anchored, too. It got easier after all the therapy, though."

"You got therapy?" It's an insensitive question. Stiles and tact don't really mix.

"Uh, yeah," he says, looking down at his food. "I worked out a lot of issues with my parents and with Lydia…and you."

"We weren't here, though."

"No," he agrees. "But I was mostly having problems with my memories of you. I did get to talk a lot about feeling out of control, and after everything, well…it's better."

"Is it?" Stiles can't help but ask. He doesn't know how he would have responded to being in Jackson's situation.

Jackson shrugs. "It helps that I don't remember any of it," he admits. His eyes get a kind of far off look for a second before he shakes it off and grins at him. "Are you gonna ask me about what my anchor is?"

"I feel like the answer will make you extremely smug," he replies. "So, no. Maybe later."

He laughs and returns his attention to his food. "Your loss."

* * *

They go out further than the neighborhood, this time. They go back downtown and walk around London. Jackson takes him to his favorite spots—a café that sells more coffee than tea and the best muffins Stiles has ever tasted, a park that Stiles spent his first night sleeping in where Jackson liked to run around on full moons, a J. Crew store that Jackson swears up and down saved his life as he transitioned. Stiles holds that this is ridiculous, but it's cute, anyway, and he doesn't mind so much.

He gets a phone call from Scott while they're eating lunch.

"Hey, buddy, how's it going?" he asks, his voice betraying none of the inner turmoil. (Jackson must sense it, though, because he moves his chair closer to his.)

"Um, Stiles? My mom and your dad are dating," Scott says.

"They've been dating for a while," Stiles says, frowning.

"Okay, I know that, but, Stiles—I over heard her tell your dad she wanted to have kids," he hisses. "This is—mom wouldn't!"

"What did the demon say?" he asks. It's out of character for Melissa, which is worrying, but the more pressing issues is if some demon is impregnating people without his father's consent. "You did tell her to look out for him, right?"

"Yeah, of course I did," Scott sighs. "But I think…it's really weird, Stiles. Your dad—I mean, the demon—agreed to it. Is that…a problem?"

"Did you ask Lydia?" Stiles asks grimly, tensing in his seat. "She has the beastiary."

Jackson loops an arm around his shoulders, providing a solid weight for him to lean against. It's grounding; a reminder that he's safe, that there's still time to fix this.

"I tried to call her but I couldn't get a hold of her. Stiles, this is…"

"I need to come home," he says, shutting his eyes and slumping forward. "I told you I shouldn't have even left. Did you talk to Derek?"

"No one is answering their phones. Stiles, I don't know what to do."

"I'm coming home. Try to cockblock our parents as much as possible," he suggests. "I'll talk to you later, okay?" He hangs up and rubs his eyes tiredly. All the sleep he's gotten sharing a bed with Jackson hasn't made enough of a difference. He still feels like the supernatural world is conspiring against his survival.

"What's going on?" Jackson asks, squeezing his shoulder lightly.

Stiles thinks about not telling him. He doesn't really want to, no matter how nice and earnest Jackson seems. No matter what his gut is telling him (which is mostly that he wants to make out with him). "Apparently my demon dad is going to impregnate Scott's mom," he says, and freezes. He hadn't meant to say that, and honestly, he's a little surprised with himself. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Or whatever. "I need to go back to Beacon Hills and stop this…whatever this is. It's not like I'm opposed to having a sibling, I just don't understand why Melissa would bring it up now, or why the demon is going for it. Plus none of the pack are answering, so…"

"Okay," Jackson says.

"Okay?" Stiles repeats. He's not sure what he was expecting. A fight, perhaps?

"Yeah, I mean, I trust your judgment of the supernatural."

"I'm…leaving, though? I thought you…" That's the crux of it, isn't it? Stiles wants him to beg him to stay or something equally annoying. But his life is not a romantic comedy, despite the tropes that have led them here.

"Oh, I'm coming with you," Jackson says.

Stiles gapes at him. Shakes his head once. Shuts his mouth. Nothing could have surprised him more. "But…you _can't_."

"Why not?" he asks. "I have an insurance settlement to spend and I'm still stronger than you. If Scott is the only pack member you're sure is okay, I'm not letting you go in alone."

He can't think. "But, I mean…"

"So let's go home and pack first, and then you can tell me everything you know about the demon. Or demons in general," he adds as an afterthought.

"Fine," he sighs.

* * *

Stiles tickets are for any time, apparently through Lydia Magic, but Jackson has no issue booking the same flight as him when he mentions that he doesn't give a shit about the price, so could you please make it happen?

It's all still kind of surreal for Stiles, but he follows Jackson through the TSA scans and the two of them take seats in the waiting area. Stiles charges his phone at one of outlets, yawning quietly.

Airports are loud at home and they're loud in Britain. No winning.

"So tell me," Jackson says, leaning close to him.

"We don't know much, or at least, we didn't when I left. Lydia might have figured out more," he chews his lip, thinking about it. "I was almost kidnapped on the way to a pack meeting, but Scott showed up at the last second to stop it. He got cut up pretty bad, but you know, werewolf healing. So he's okay, just…it was pretty awful." He shudders as he remembers the cold hands that had grabbed him.

He nods and pats Stiles' knee. "You can take your time," he reassures him.

He shakes his head in response. "I need to just…say it all. We didn't think it was a big deal. Baddies try to take me or Lydia all the time. They think we're the most helpless, and I guess…well, we're not as strong. They take us to screw with the pack dynamic and to lure the others in, but." He shrugs. "That's not what this was, obviously, because they came for me again." He glances over at Jackson and smiles wryly. "Scott was sleeping over, though, so it was fine."

"I told you it's not weird."

"It's a little weird," he says, smiling. "I don't want to kiss Scott. That makes a difference."

Jackson smiles. "Point taken." He's radiating smugness now, and Stiles just rolls his eyes.

"Anyway," he says, nudging the other boy's leg with his knee. "We figured out pretty quickly that the efforts seemed focused on me after the third attempt. Scott didn't leave my side for a week, but then my dad came home and acted…different."

"And your immediate conclusion was _demon_?"

"No," Stiles says. "That was mostly from the black eyes I caught in the mirror. I guess they can't hide them from reflective surfaces, or something."

This time when he pats Stiles' knee, he leaves his hand there. It feels weirdly…old school? Victorian? Stiles isn't really sure.

He brushes off his concern and decides to take comfort in the touch, reaching down to take Jackson's hand and lace their fingers. "Scott was still hanging out with me all the time and when my heartbeat spiked, he took me up to my room and made me tell him what was going on. Then he pulled me out of the window and we went to the loft. Derek called Lydia and she started looking it up on the beastiary."

"Was she alone?" Jackson asks curiously, thumb moving slowly over Stiles' knuckles.

"Aiden was with her," he says with a shrug.

"Her new boyfriend," he guesses, voice odd. It must be weird to know your ex has moved on.

Stiles wouldn't really know. "Yeah," he agrees. For a minute he doesn't speak, just staring at their clasped hands and chewing his lip. "She figures he's a demon, but we didn't have a lot of information on demons or people who try to control them."

"So she researched and sent you here," Jackson guesses.

He nods grimly. "She wanted to visit Oxford," he says helplessly.

He sighs. "It's overrated, anyway."

Over the intercom, their flight is called.

"My seat isn't next to yours," Jackson says, sighing down at his ticket. "So I guess I'll see you when we land."

"Yeah," Stiles says, before pulling Jackson close to hug him. "Thank you."

"For what?"  
"For listening. For coming. Everything, really."

"Don't be stupid," Jackson says, rolling his eyes. But he's smiling before he tucks his head into Stiles' neck and snuffles for a second.

_Werewolves_ and their _scent-marking_. Whatever.

"Hey," Stiles says, poking Jackson's side. "I think I mentioned something about kissing earlier?"

"Oh, yeah?" He leans back to look at him, their noses touching. When he speaks, Stiles can feel his breath on his lips, cool and tantalizing. "I think we could probably do that."

"Mm," he agrees. "So come on."

He obliges, leaning forward and tilting his head just so, until their lips catch softly, just at the corners.

"Stop teasing," Stiles commands, turning his head until his lips are brushing against Jackson's in full. It's all very slow and strangely sweet. Just a soft brush and return, over and over, until Stiles catches Jackson's lower lip with his teeth and sucks it before releasing and dragging his mouth up to catch the upper one.

Jackson almost chokes in surprise, so Stiles stops long enough to lean back and ask if he's okay. "Fine," he answers. "Fine." Then he pulls Stiles close again to kiss him deeper.

By the time it's over, Jackson looks flustered and still a little shell-shocked.

Stiles feels relatively pleased with himself. "You're adorable," he tells Jackson.

Jackson just blinks at him, stunned, lips swollen but still pink.

* * *

**A/N**: See, no mpreg.


	4. Part 4

Otg2012 asked you: Hi.. Just in case.. Stackson: for different fics: "I've always been into you"/ "I don't wanna keep this a secret anymore" / "It's time, I want us to have children" / "**they are never gonna get it**".

Or: One time Jackson surprised Stiles, one time Stiles surprised Jackson, one time they surprised each other, and one time they surprised the pack

**Background pairings**: Lydia/Aiden, Scott/Allison/Isaac, Boyd/Erica, though it could be read as Boyd/Erica/Cora if you squint really hard.

* * *

Scott might have jumped the gun about the pack not answering their phones, or at least, Stiles guesses as much when Lydia and Aiden are waiting for them at the airport.

Stiles heads toward her, Jackson trailing behind him.

Lydia holds up a compact mirror and shows him her own and Aiden's eyes before doing the same test to him. "We brought your Jee—Jackson," she squeaks, eyes going wide as she stares at him. "I didn't know you were…"

Jackson takes the mirror from her and does his own eyes. "Hello, Lydia," he says, apparently deciding that things will only be awkward if he lets them. "And you must be Aiden," he continues, handing the compact back to Lydia.

Aiden is watching Jackson like he's not sure if he should think of him as a threat. He must decide not to worry, though, because he grins and offers a hand. "Nice to meet you," he says. When Jackson takes the hand, though, Aiden squeezes tightly but Jackson doesn't flinch.

"Okay, now that the intimidation tactics are over," Stiles bites out irritably. "There's the matter of my dad being possessed by a demon that wants to bang Mrs. McCall."

"It's worse than that," Lydia says, doing her best to get over her stunned surprise at seeing Jackson. "We think Melissa might be possessed, too."

"Why do they want to have a kid?" Stiles wonders, exasperated. Seriously, what the hell is up with the supernatural around here? It makes no sense. First they want him, then they just want to knock each other up? "What is the endgame, here?"

Lydia bites her lip and shrugs. "We don't really know. We've been looking every where, but even Deaton doesn't really understand why. What we do know is that they're lesser demons and really easy to exorcise, if we can catch them off guard. Also, they're definitely being controlled by someone else. This isn't a demon war."

"Let's get a move on, hmm?" Jackson says, touching the small of Stiles' back and gesturing to the door. "You can fill us in on everything in the car ride home."

She eyes the hand on Stiles' back, but says nothing before nodding. Perhaps to reassure herself, she takes Aiden's hand and drags him through the door.

Their relationship is entertaining, to say the least, because while Aiden takes up plenty of space and has no problem throwing his strength around, Lydia is obviously the one in charge. Stiles has seen her threaten Aiden not to touch her handbags on pain of death and seen Aiden cower, which doesn't make any sense. Lydia and magic cancel each other out, so she has essentially no advantages over him.

Except for her being…Lydia.

Stiles thinks he'd be terrified of her were he in Aiden's place, too. He still kind of is.

When they reach his Jeep, Lydia hands him his keys and takes shotgun without hesitating. Aiden and Jackson take the back seat, sitting on opposite sides and not quite glaring at each other, but something close.

See, Stiles understands being enamored with Lydia Martin, probably better than most people do. He spent…well, he'd like to say that he got over the crush when he was 16 but that's inherently false. He's still kind of in love with her, a little bit. So he's been in love with her for ten years. One simply does not get over Lydia Martin. She's…incredible, in all her doings.

So like, it makes sense that Jackson is still a little hung up on her. For all that he said he's "always been into" Stiles, Lydia is the one who turned him from a kanima to a werewolf. (To be fair, Jackson never ever hurt Stiles. There was the one time he paralyzed him, but that could definitely be interpreted as keeping him from getting crushed by his own car. Which, hey, actually kind of sweet.) Lydia is the one he dated. Jackson might be into Stiles, but he's also into Lydia. Who wouldn't be?

Still, it's weird. Like, really weird. But Stiles brushes it off and starts the car. "Okay, so what do we know?"

"Deaton thinks a warlock is behind all of it. He says it's not uncommon for them to go after sparks to do some kind of…magic suck? That's, unfortunately, the best way to explain it. Plus warlocks have enough power to control demons," she explains.

"But he also thinks it doesn't make sense," Aiden says from the backseat, leaning forward to rest his chin on Lydia's seat. "He says warlocks are drawn to big bursts of power, and you've never done more than mess with mountain ash and some poultices, right? Something any of us could do and you could spark."

He considers it, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he pulls out onto the highway next to the airport. It shouldn't take more than two hours to get to Beacon Hills, and hopefully Scott will be able to prevent copulation in that time. "I don't think I've done anything that would attract attention. I haven't brought anyone back from the dead."

Lydia hits him.

He doesn't protest, just grinning at her cheekily. "What are our other options?"

"That's really all we could figure out. Deaton is really worried that if you didn't do something to attract attention, someone else did."

"Okay," Stiles says, mulling over it. He tries to think over the past month. "All I can think of is a binding I did on Allison's bow," he says. "But that was just stitchwork. Nothing big. I don't think I can _do_ anything big."

"No," Lydia agrees primly. "I know."

"I didn't know you were magic," Jackson says from the back seat.

"A lot has changed," Lydia says, but now her voice is cool. "Which you would know if you had _been here_."

"Hey, let's remember that his dad moved him away," Stiles jumps in. He feels weirdly protective of Jackson at the moment (or maybe it's not weird, whatever.) The point is, he likes Jackson, and he likes Lydia, and he would prefer they got along. "And can you guys, like, I dunno, not fight while I'm driving?"

"I didn't say anything," Jackson complains.

"Which I appreciate," he replies, smiling at him in the rearview mirror.

"_Holy shit,_" Lydia hisses, obviously drawing a conclusion.

"Not a word," he snaps at her. "And yeah, I'm what Deaton likes to call a spark. I can't do big magic. It's more like I can wield magical objects, like mountain ash and wolfsbane, which, fun fact, most humans are allergic to. I'm not about to eat it but I can mess with the plants without breaking out in hives," he explains to Jackson.

"Oh," he answers, settling back in his seat. "That's pretty cool. So, the warlock wants to suck that ability out of you? How would he even go about doing that? And why do the demons want to reproduce?"

Lydia sniffs and shakes her head. "We don't know. None of us are warlocks."

"How would I know that?" he asks, exasperated.

"You _could have_ known that," she snipes.

"Guys," Stiles whines. "Cut it out."

"I'm with Stiles on this," Aiden agrees, folding his arms, looking vaguely annoyed.

Lydia looks over her shoulder at him and pouts a little before muttering, "Sorry, sweetie." She says nothing to Jackson, but at this point, it's preferable.

Aiden rests his hand on the shoulder of her seat, and she crosses her arm over her chest to link their fingers.

"You two are sickening," Stiles says, making a left turn. "Seriously, how can any one stand to be around you?"

"You deal with Allison and Scott all the time," Aiden says, smirking.

"Yeah but I actually like them," he grumbles.

"You love us," they say together.

"Sometimes," he says. "Maybe. I like Jackson way more than both of you." When he looks at Jackson in his rearview mirror, the boy is ducking his head and grinning.

* * *

He drives to Scott's house and Scott comes running down the driveway. "I missed you so much," he says, crawling over Lydia's lap to hug Stiles.

"Ugh," she mutters. "Let me out. I'll sit next to Aiden."

Scott moves out of the way, managing to keep hugging Stiles. "Oh, hi," he says, looking back at Jackson. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Surprise," Jackson says drily. He's looking at Scott through narrowed eyes that don't falter as Aiden moves across to sit next to him.

"Cool," Scott says, ignoring all antagonism. "We need all the help we can get."

"So what's up with Dad?" Stiles asks, driving away. "Also are we going to Deaton's or Derek's?"

"Deaton," Scott says. "He has some materials for you to defend against he warlock and also exorcise the demon. You can't be there, by the way," he directs at Lydia. "You'll screw it up."

She sighs, pretending to be put upon. "Whatever. Stiles, will you drop me off at home, then?"

"Sure," he says, turning left where he would normally turn right to get to Deaton's.

"So what are you doing here, Jackson?" Scott asks conversationally, as though they don't have years of fighting between them. Actually, it's likely that Scott just doesn't care. Jackson always hated Scott more than Scott hated Jackson.

Jackson steels himself. "I came to help Stiles," he says, like that's all the information Scott could need.

Stiles nods. "Yeah, me and Jackson are tight now."

"Are you?" Lydia asks archly. "Just how…_tight_ are we talking?"

He looks at Jackson in the rearview mirror and shrugs at him.

Jackson has apparently decided he's not going to acknowledge her, and sullenly looks out the window.

"We're tight," Stiles says in lieu of an explanation, because he's really not sure where they stand. After all, they've kissed a few times and shared a bed, but it's not like they're _dating_. But Jackson did fly across an ocean and then across America for Stiles, so maybe they're doing something more. In any case, it's something they need to talk about by themselves before they complicate it with anyone else (read: ex-girlfriend and nosy best friends). "Say, is Danny still in town?"

Jackson perks up.

"Yep," Scott says, settling comfortably in his seat. "He's just back from visiting his grandparents. We could probably text him later. How long are you staying?"

"Actually I applied to Berkeley," Jackson says. "So I'll be back in August, anyway. Danny knows, but it would be great to see him before then."

"Berkeley?" Stiles asks, looking at him in the mirror again. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. I missed California."

"That's where we're going," Scott says, grinning easily. "Allison, too."

"Cool," Jackson says, looking relieved.

So they're going to college together. Yet another indicator that something more than friendship, more than just dating, is possible. Stiles feels remarkably invested in a relationship that's about…three days old. Should he be slowing down? Maybe. It's not like they're getting married or having sex yet, though, so maybe…it's not a big deal. They can move slowly. It just helps _a lot_ that Jackson will be at the same school as him.

It also helps that Scott is so much about putting the past behind him. He even managed to forgive Derek for everything that happened in their sophomore year, which Stiles holds is the best part of the Be a Better Scott McCall Program. Life got a lot easier when you were working with the resident alpha than when you worked against him. Even Jackson can't resist Scott's puppy eyes, apparently.

Stiles pulls up to Lydia's house. "Later, dudes," he says as Lydia and Aiden get out.

Lydia strides around the front of the Jeep and leans in his windows. "I want details about London," she says calmly. "Did you do anything? Anyone?"

"We'll talk later, but the answer to your second question is no," he says calmly.

"Fine," she huffs, before spinning on her heel and walking back to her house, Aiden right behind her. He waves at Stiles over his shoulder, grinning in his normal cocky way.

"They seem well balanced," Jackson comments, looking far more relaxed now that he isn't dealing with Lydia head on.

"They're terrifying," Stiles grumbles, and drives faster than normal to get to Deaton's. They have a warlock to destroy.

* * *

"So first you should perform the exorcism," Deaton says. He hasn't commented at all on Jackson's presence, as though it's to be expected. Maybe he has a homing device planted in all of them.

Which is a weird thought, but honestly not the weirdest he's had.

"Okay," Stiles says. "So I just recite this chant and they'll be sent back to hell?"

"Yes," Deaton says. "But the warlock will be drawn to you. It's big enough magic to register, unlike little things with mountain ash. Have you given any consideration to what may have attracted him to you in the first place?"

He shrugs, glancing at Scott. "I haven't done anything big, but maybe when I was doing some experimenting with Lydia?"

Next to him, Jackson tenses.

"Not that kind," he says immediately, which of course makes Scott look at the two of them speculatively. He can't tell if Scott has noticed his attraction to Jackson, because he doesn't feel particularly aroused at the moment, or if he's thinking Jackson still has feelings for Lydia. Either way, he doesn't want the attention.

"What do you mean, Stiles?" Deaton asks patiently.

He shrugs, shifting his weight. "Just small stuff, you know, poultices. We wanted to see if anything was effective for her, and I guess I had to use more of the spark and belief than normally to balance for it."

"Were you successful?" he asks, not sounding particularly interested. Which of course means nothing. Deaton never lets on what his genuine feelings are.

"Not really," Stiles answers, shrugging. "Finally found a combination that soothed a sunburn, but it didn't heal it like it was supposed to."

"Hmm," he says, leaning back thoughtfully. "That may have been enough. Otherwise, it's just because Beacon Hills has entirely too much supernatural activity, and he was just hopeful."

"Likely," Stiles muttered.

"So what do we need to do?" Scott asks. "If Stiles is doing the exorcism."

"You'll need to keep them where they are, preferably without hurting them," Deaton suggests. "And be prepared for the warlock to arrive."

"How do we get rid of _him_?" Stiles wonders.

Deaton smiles. "That's where things get interesting."

* * *

Deaton's code for interesting turns out to be trapping the warlock in a mountain ash circle and using his magic to send him far away.

With that in mind, they drive out to Stiles house, where Melissa and his Dad are hanging out. Isaac was already there, which was pretty normal at this point. Melissa liked him a lot more than she liked Stiles, which is ridiculous, because Stiles has never even tried to kill anyone. Isaac just looks cuter, obviously.

Anyway, they've been cockblocked to the point that when the three of them arrive with a print out of the exorcism, mountain ash, and instructions on how to use the warlock's magic against him.

"Won't he just come back?" Jackson wonders.

"We'll just do it again," Scott says, waving a hand dismissively. "We can't kill him if he's never killed anyone." He's texting the pack to meet them at the house.

"That's good I guess," Jackson mutters.

Stiles catches his eyes in the mirror again and offers him a smile. "We'll figure everything out. Don't worry."

He smiles back at him.

Stiles feels warm.

"Dude," Scott mutters lowly. He's not looking at either of them, still texting, but the "dude" says enough. He knows.

"We'll talk later," Stiles promises, and then they're arriving at the house.

Isaac comes out to meet them, hugging Stiles as soon as he's out of the Jeep and smiling pleasantly at Jackson. "Sup?" he says, and that's that. He kisses Scott on the cheek, who grins at him pleasantly. "Missed you, Stiles," he says, moving back into hug Stiles again. "You don't smell right."

"He smells fine," Jackson says immediately.

"He smells like _you_," Scott corrects. Clearly, he adds this to whatever catalogue he's keeping of their behavior.

Stiles pats Isaac on the back. "You should probably get used to it," he offers, because if nothing else, he's going to make out with Jackson some more. Definitely.

"Oh, cool," Isaac says. If he's surprised by the development, he doesn't show it. Lately, Isaac has been sort of unflappable. It might come from spending more time with Boyd and even better control over his furry side. He nuzzles Stiles' neck one time, and then steps back. "So Allison is on her way," he says, moving to stand next to Scott. "She said she'll bring both bows, just in case."

Derek is the next one to show up, Cora, Boyd, and Erica with him. They all pile out of his Toyota (Jackson eyes it distastefully) and swarm Stiles.

"Why do you smell like Jackson?" Erica asks as she rubs herself against him like a cat.

"It's complicated, I think," Stiles says, shrugging as he pats her back.

Boyd gives him a one-armed hug the same time Cora snuggles against his side and Derek just pats his shoulder.

Cora turns expectantly to Jackson, offering a hand. "I'm Cora, Derek's little sister," she says.

Jackson shakes her hand, smiling. It's near impossible not to be charmed by Cora. "Hi," he says. "I'm Jackson."

"I didn't know you had a boyfriend, Stiles," she says, turning to him.

Stiles rubs the back of his neck and glances at Jackson, who shrugs. "It's…new and kind of complicated."

She shrugs. "Okay."

"Damn," Erica says, leaning into Boyd. "I had so many plans."

Boyd actually rolls his eyes before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Allison pulls up alone, because she operates as such. "Danny and Ethan are occupied," she says as she gets out of the car. "It's been a long two weeks for them."

"For all of us," Scott says meaningfully, looking at Stiles like a lost puppy.

Stiles can't help it, then, and he tugs Scott into another hug. "You're the cutest person I know," he mutters. "Like, so cute."

"Mine," Allison says, tugging Scott away. "Cut it out."

"He was mine longer," Stiles complains, reaching after him. "I don't even want to kiss him. I'll leave that to you and Isaac. Gimme back."

"No," Isaac agrees, tugging both Scott and Allison away. "Why don't you go play with your mountain ash or something?"

"Ugh, fine, let's get this over with. Everyone, make sure these adults don't copulate or escape."

Derek rolls his eyes and gestures for everyone to move toward the house.

Jackson hovers with Stiles, though. "Do you need help?"

"Can you carry this for me?" he asks, gesturing to the mountain ash. He could carry it himself, really, but he's kind of tired and needs to save his strength. Also, it's sweet that Jackson asked in the first place. Sue him, he wants to be pampered, a little.

"Sure," Jackson says, hefting the garbage bag easily.

"Don't touch it, though," Stiles says, shutting his Jeep carefully. "You'll get sick. Black blood."

"Oh," he says, looking vaguely sick just at the thought of it. "No thanks."

Belatedly, Stiles remembers Derek mentioning black blood coming out of Jackson's orifices and the black pool Gerard had left behind. "Sorry," he mutters. "Didn't mean to trigger you."

"It's okay," Jackson says, shrugging. "We'll talk about it later."

"Cool," he says. "Now let's do this bitch."

* * *

The exorcism is easy enough, once they have the two adults cornered. Demons are strong, but so are werewolves, even unshifted, so Derek and Scott get hold of them and Stiles starts the exorcism. It's a bunch of Latin he's not sure he even pronounces correctly, but the black smoke comes out of both of them when he's finished, and there's some screaming before both adults collapse.

Isaac and Boyd carry them upstairs without a word, and Stiles takes the mountain ash from Jackson. "We'll need to work fast," he tells the rest of the pack.

"Finally," someone says from behind him, and all the werewolves immediately fall into crouches, growling.

Stiles spins on his heel, only the bag of mountain ash preventing him from flailing. "Jeez, watch it," he tells the smirking man standing about six inches from him. "You'll kill a man like that."

"Hmm," he says, obviously disinterested. "You have something I want."

"Too bad," Derek says, shoving Stiles aside to tackle the warlock.

Of course the warlock can teleport, though, and he just flickers away from Derek before reappearing a few feet away. "Childish," he scoffs.

Maybe he underestimated Stiles, though, because, well, Stiles is really good at setting mountain ash barriers. He doesn't really even have to move at this point, if he believes hard enough. Which he totally,_ totally_, does. He grabs a single fistful of mountain ash, squeezes his eyes shut, and drops it.

"Impressive," the warlock says, when he discovers that he can't move from the five feet of space. "That's a very strong spark you have. Don't suppose you'll let me have just a taste?" he wonders. "Because honestly this isn't going the way I had hoped."

The guy reminds him of Peter, unfortunately, so Stiles is completely disinterested in hearing him out. "You're creepy," he says instead, and digs the instructions out of his pocket. "Okay, so…Actually, can I take a minute to say thanks? Really, you guys have been fantastic. I'm very proud of your research skills."

"Lydia did it all," Allison says, waving a hand. "She was either irritated about not going to England or feeling guilty because she was the reason he showed up."

"She's not the reason," the warlock says, frowning at them. "It's him."

"Sparks are cool, dude, but we all know smothers are cooler," Stiles says.

"You have a smother?" the warlock says, voice going high in discomfort.

Stiles nods. "A strawberry blond goddess, really. Anyway, back to business." He pulls the instructions out. "Really?" he mutters when he sees that the first one is to make a second ring of mountain ash. He steps back a few steps before dropping another handful of the dust on the floor.

"That's really cool," Jackson hisses when the ring forms of it's own volition.

"_Dude_," Scott says. "I cannot believe all this time you were being a dick it was because you had a hard on for him."

"Now is not the time," Stiles says, waving a hand at him. "Can we talk about me and Jackson later?"

"No, I'm actually really interested," Allison pipes up. "Why didn't you try to steal Stiles away when you were trying to piss Scott of by taking me?"

"It wouldn't have worked," Jackson says, shrugging.

"True," Stiles agreed.

"But how long?" Erica asks, leaning forward and crossing her arms. "For me it was when he started with the buzz cuts…when was that, sixth grade?"

"Seriously, can we not?" Stiles whines.

"I think it was freshman year, actually," Jackson says, shrugging. "We shared a locker room, you know?"

"Ugh, so jealous," Erica complains.

"Boyd, control your girlfriend," Stiles complains.

"I like her this way," Boyd says, smirking at him.

He groans and turns to the next instruction. "Okay, dude, while my friends are all being annoying about my dude friend over here, do you have any last words before I send you to Alaska?"

"Actually I want to know why everyone is so surprised you're dating," the warlock says with a shit-eating grin.

"How about no," Stiles says as Scott chimes in with, "Jackson made his life hell, apparently because he's a baby."

Jackson punches Scott.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Okay, bye, dude. Have fun in Alaska." He squints at the page and groans. He really has to say this? He feels a bit like Harry at his first Hogwarts dinner, when Dumbledore said gibberish in lieu of a speech. He clears his throat before pronouncing the spell as best he can. "Suno brilas lekanto butero milda siavice tiun stultan graso rato flava," he says, and the warlock, as well as the two rings of mountain ash, disappear with a pop. Which is a definite bonus. Usually he has to sweep it up himself, because of course the wolves are too delicate.

"So that was anti-climatic," Scott says.

"Whoa, wait," Stiles says. "You're forgetting that my dad didn't know anything about the supernatural and now we have to tell him everything."

"But…Mom can do it," Scott says. "We're way more interested in you and Jackson."

"Yeah," Erica says. "By the way, are either of you into exhibitionism, because let me tell you, I would pay to see you guys."

"You think we would do something as aggressively boring as a sextape?" Jackson scoffs.

"That's flattering, really, but seriously, I don't want to have this conversation," Stiles says. "Maybe later. I need to talk to my dad, and also Jackson, so how about…I'll see you guys later. Roll out, or whatever."

"Ugh, fine," Erica mutters. She practically drags Boyd and Cora out the door.

Derek follows at a more ambling pace. "We'll talk about you and the pack later," he tells Jackson.

"Cool," Jackson says, slumping a little. He'd probably prefer to be an omega, but Stiles wonders if pack isn't better than that. They'll talk about it later.

Scott hugs Stiles again. "Do you need me to stay and demonstrate for your dad?"

"No, I think he'll know now. I just have to explain some things, like why I've been lying for the past two years. No big deal."

"It could be worse," Scott says.

"Yeah," he agrees, rubbing his hand over his face. "A lot worse." His dad could be dead.

"Bye!" Allison says brightly, rubbing her hands through his hair happily. "It was nice to see you again, Jackson. We'll have to hang out."

"Sure," he says, smiling easily.

"Lates," Isaac says, following Allison and Scott happily.

Finally, the two of them are alone. "We should talk," Stiles says, and then winces. "Not in a bad way. Just in a normal way."

"Sure," Jackson says, fronting like he isn't worried (though it's so obvious he is). "In the living room?"

Stiles nods, and the two of them trek into the McCall living room to sit on the couch. "So I like you," he says without preamble, because the direct approach is probably best. Well, maybe best. Not best? He doesn't know. It's not like he has tons of experience in successful crush reveal.

"I like you, too," Jackson says, smiling a little, so maybe it is okay.

"Right," he says, drumming his fingers against his knee. "I want to date you. But I don't know if we're like, boyfriends, yet. Because that seems pretty quick."

"True," he agrees. He leans back, considering everything, and then smiles decisively. "So tomorrow, let's go out. We can date before I go back to England, and when I come back for college we can talk about being boyfriends. That way you'll have time to get your head wrapped around it, and everything will be fine."

"Great," Stiles says, leaning back against the couch. "Now turn on some mindless cop show before I lose my mind."

* * *

When the sheriff and Melissa wake up, they find the two boys slumped together on the couch, Stiles fast asleep and Jackson's eyes glazed as he stares at the screen. "Oh, hi," he says, shaking Stiles awake. "Nice to see you again, sir."

The sheriff looks at him doubtfully, but nods.

Stiles wakes up with minimal flailing and smiles when he sees his dad. "How are you two feeling?"

"Like shit," Melissa says.

His dad frowns at her.

"What?" she mutters. "They're adults. Also, it's true."

"Fair enough," his dad agrees, and sits down on the loveseat.

Melissa sits next to him, smiling warmly at them. "I explained everything he didn't understand," she offers. "He just has a few questions for you, Stiles."

"I figured," he says, rubbing his eyes. "Hit me with 'em, Dad."

His dad just looks at him kind of sadly for a minute. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"To protect you," he answers immediately. "And to protect Scott. Mr. Argent is kind of a di—jerk. He'd probably kill Scott right now if he had good enough reason. But I also didn't want you involved with it because you'd want to make justice happen, no matter the cost and…I can't lose you, Dad."

"Did you ever consider that I can't lose you, either?" he says, sighing and leaning forward. "You're all I've had for a few years. Just because I'm dating Melissa now…I still need you, kid."

"I know," he says, slumping, knocking his shoulders into Jackson's. "Sorry," he mutters quickly.

Jackson shakes his head. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry, Dad," he says at last. "I thought it was for the best. I never imagined a warlock would use you against me."

His dad shrugs, smiling a little. "It's okay. We Stilinski men are tough. Demon possessions are nothing."

"Liar," Melissa says, punching him with a grin.

"Yeah," he agrees.

"Well, that's super cute and all," Stiles says, grimacing as his Dad leans over to kiss her. "But um, I guess I should mention that Jackson and I are dating now. Good talk!" He leaps to his feet, grabs Jackson's hand and pulls him out of the house. "Come on, quick, before they start _making love_."

"Hey," Jackson says, pulling him to a stop outside of the Jeep. "You're adorable." He kisses him _sweetly_, and Stiles…Stiles doesn't melt, okay? Stilinski men are the manliest of men, the stuff of legends.

(He totally melts.)

* * *

They go on a double date with Allison, Isaac, and Scott, because none of the other couples can stand to be around the threesome. They're, according to Lydia, "Akin to the fuzziness you get on your teeth after you eat too many Reese's Pieces."

However, Scott is Stiles best bro forever, and Jackson and Allison actually kept in touch after the move, so the two of them don't mind.

The five of them go to the diner and cram into a booth. Scott tries to play footsie with Isaac several times and ends up with his foot hooked around Stiles at least three times. (He suspects he's caught Jackson occasionally, too.)

The two of them do their best to explain their "whirlwind romance," but though the others try to understand…

"I still don't get it," Isaac says. "So you liked Stiles forever but decided to solve that by hooking up with the girl of his dreams and hoping his affections transferred?"

"And you decided to reciprocate because he took you around London?" Scott queries, looking vaguely disappointed.

Allison smiles, though. "I think it's cute! Don't worry. These two? They're never gonna get it."

* * *

A/N: Fun fact! I used Fred and George's spell "Sunshine, daisy, butter mellow...etc" translated into Esperanto to send the warlock away, for no particular reason.

If otg2012 gave me more stackson prompts, I'd probably fit it into this 'verse. I'll let you guys know if I end up posting a sequel. I would answer any questions you guys had, too. For example, Jackson's anchor, which just didn't come up again and therefor wasn't really important to the story.

Clandon asked how Stiles got his passport so quickly. Admittedly, I wasn't thinking about this, given that last time I went out of the country you didn't need a passport. However, given the speculation that Beacon Hills is a pretty upper middle to upper class suburb (the only obvious exceptions being Scott and Boyd) I think we can assume that Stiles just already had one. For this 'verse, that is the answer. And if that seems unsatisfying to you, assume that Derek knows lots of places to get falsified documents. :)


End file.
